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Take Flight

Page 16

by T. E. Price


  What options do I have left? Do I wait here and call the police? My chest rises and falls in rapid succession. I can risk a call to the police if he makes enough noise while trying to break in. I narrow my eyes just as his hand reaches out for the handle of the side door. It swings open. Both hands fly to my face as I stifle a cry. I forgot to lock it!

  How could I have forgotten to lock it? My race to the tree was more important…and now I’ve just let the man who’s here to hurt me into my hiding place. I turn my head around and let it fall back on the trunk as my breathing reaches near hyperventilation. I don’t have much time before he figures out I’m hiding outside. I squeeze my eyes shut and throw both arms across my stomach. What should I do? My arms lock against the keys in my pocket. That’s it! With only moments to spare, I crouch down and run for my car. My feet skid across the rough ground. I stumble just as I approach the car. Breathe. I silently slip the key into the lock, click open the car door, and hurl myself inside.

  Vroom! The engine starts. My hands shake violently as I shift into drive, catapulting down the dirt road as I swerve dangerously around his parked car. I don’t need my lights to help guide me, I just have to get out. Just as I’m about to take the first curve, the front porch light illuminates in my rearview mirror. I gasp at Jonathan’s large, silhouetted frame on the top, front step… watching me flee.

  My tires squeal as I take a turn onto the main road perpendicular to the lake house driveway. I catch a glimpse of his car lights moving. He’s in his car. The chase is on. I hit the gas as hard as I can. Escape, escape … I need an escape. The boating access! The lot should be just up the road. Yes! The narrow entrance to the small lot is now in view. I turn the steering wheel hard as I bump down the riveted drive.

  As soon as I am behind the dense patch of bare trees, I punch the car into park and shut off the engine. My breathing is heavy as I crouch in my seat. Can I watch the road and still stay hidden? Headlights shine on the road before me, and I cringe. Oh gosh! The Audi zooms by. I remain frozen in place, my strained breathing filling the silence. I stay like this for a few minutes. He has to be long gone by now, he has to be chasing the ghost of my car. I collapse over the steering wheel and finally let the torrent of sobs take control of my body. He found my hiding place.

  ***

  “How did he find me?” I bluster the moment I enter through Ainsley’s front door. I had to come here, Jonathan’s probably circling my parents’ house. At least this place is gated. I throw down the overnight bag that I had neglected earlier and begin pacing. Ainsley’s eyes follow me as she pinches the skin on her throat. “I mean, somehow he figured it out, just like he’s been figuring out my appointments. And then he’s there, sneaking into the house. He probably thought I was asleep—what would he have done if I hadn’t escaped?” A shudder starts at my neck and runs to my toes. I throw my head into my hands and stare at the floor. A smear of blood streaks across the white tiles of the entryway beneath me. “I’m bleeding,” I groan, “I must have cut my foot while I was running.” I pick my head up, “I’m … I’m sorry about the mess.”

  Ainsley’s eyes widen. “Oh dear. Don’t worry—I’ll get something to clean it.” As Ainsley leaves, I slide down the wall to the floor, propping my bleeding, dirt-stained foot on my knee as the tears fall again. Ainsley returns with a bottle of cleaner, a roll of paper towels, and a first-aid kit. She swipes across the tiles in silence as I clean my wound, my sniffles replacing words. Finally, she says, “Will’s here. Well—you probably saw his truck in the driveway when you pulled up.” Did I? Between the boating access lot and Ainsley’s garage, my eyes were only searching for the Audi. “Anyway, he’s in the shower right now, but if Jonathan happens to get past the security gate, he’ll see the truck.” She throws up both hands and shakes her head, “What am I saying—he won’t get past the security system. You’re safe here— Jonathan won’t bother us tonight.”

  I nod and bite at the arm of my sweatshirt to steady my quivering chin. Eventually, I whisper, “But how did he find me?”

  Ainsley pauses mid-stroke, like she’s about to speculate, then returns to the cleaning, putting some unneeded muscle into it. Is she upset about the messy floor? She lifts off her knees and leaves the room with a fist-full of blood-stained paper towel. I wipe my cheek on my shoulder. Maybe I should apologize about the floor again when she gets back.

  But I don’t get the chance to as Ainsley re-enters the room and says, “You know what you need—a trip.” I groan as I reach for my overnight bag. “No, really,” she says, “let’s just leave tomorrow morning. There’s this line-up of country singers performing in Nashville—they’ve been there all week. Let’s go.”

  “But Ainsley—” I start.

  She raises a hand to stop me, “You told me while driving here that you can’t go back to the lake house, that he might try to return again tomorrow night. Let’s trick him into thinking you’ve left the lake house while we escape for a few days. I’m sure Jim will let you take off work, and I know my parents are just waiting around to watch Miles for a few days.”

  With a deep sigh, I say, “I really can’t afford a trip right now.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Ainsley replies, waving me off. “I’ll pay for it—it will be a birthday present.” She starts bouncing from foot to foot. “Yes, we can go for a few days, celebrate your birthday on Friday night, and be back late Saturday before worship practice on Sunday morning. It’ll be perfect. I can book the tickets and hotel tonight, and we’ll drop your car off at the lake house early tomorrow so you can pack your luggage, then go to the airport.” She draws her hands together in front of her, then adds, “It might be good to have your car at the lake house so if he does come back, he’ll realize just because your car’s there doesn’t mean you’re there.”

  I shrug one shoulder and bite my bottom lip. It’s not a bad idea. Maybe if he sees my car in the driveway of the lake house, he’ll stop looking for me around town. It might confuse him long enough for me to decide what I want to do—what I need to do—to stay safe. Ainsley trots off to find her laptop. I haven’t agreed yet, but she’s made up her mind. My brow furrows as I look down at my overnight bag and my dirty, bare feet. It doesn’t matter how hard she’s trying to lighten the moment, I can’t shake the near miss of tonight.

  Maybe she’s right though, maybe I do need to escape for a couple nights—just to throw Jonathan off.Who knows what I’ll do when I return, but getting out of town for a few nights isn’t the worst idea. In fact, my safety may depend on it.

  * * *

  The hordes of people up and down Broadway draw my attention as our shuttle pulls up to the hotel. Wow. Could our hotel be any better located? “Ainsley, you didn’t have to book our room here—you probably paid a fortune for a hotel on Broadway,” I say.

  “It’s for your birthday—you only turn twenty-six once.”

  “Well, thank you.” I smile, but my stomach grips with my reality. I have only come here to escape Jonathan, a default response I was trying to leave in my past, not to practice in the present. Ainsley moseys up to the front desk, and the young man with a slick haircut and chiseled face asks for our reservations. Ainsley begins to put on a little show. She flicks her hair back, flashes a wide grin, pitches her voice just right, and before long, we’ve been upgraded to a suite. Ainsley collects our room cards and throws a dainty wave back at the clerk as we wheel our suitcases toward the elevators. “Um, what was that about?” I point back at the front desk.

  “Oh, that? It’s just a little flirting to get an upgrade,” she laughs. “And it worked—now we have a room with a view of Honky Tonk Highway. I bet we can hear the music from our suite.” I frown in her direction as we step into the elevator and punch our floor number. “What? A little flirting doesn’t hurt anyone.”

  I tilt my head, “I bet Will disagrees.”

  “Will is working, like he always does,” the resentment in her tone escalates with each word. “He doesn’t have ti
me to think of me and what I’m doing.” I rock back on my heels from the intensity of her comment. My mind twists with positive comments and encouraging words, as if that would help now. I don’t have it in me to rock the boat, and I don’t get the chance to. Ding. We’ve reached our floor and our focus is now on finding our suite.

  Our night is filled with great food, a drink here and there, and the country twang of local talent. The next morning begins with Ainsley singing happy birthday over and over as we get ready for a full day on Broadway. Ainsley wasn’t lying—the country artist line-up for today is top-notch. My ears are ringing with the sound of banjos and harmonicas as the sun sets. Ainsley glances at her Michael Kors watch. It’s time to trade in our casual wear for a dress more appropriately matched for the Nashville nightlife. Ainsley drags me back to our room to get ready for a night on Honky Tonk Highway.

  “What dress did you decide on?” Ainsley shouts from the bathroom as she applies the finishing touches to her make-up.

  “I think I’ll wear the brown one,” I say as I pull the somewhat modest dress from my bag. A groan bubbles in the back of my throat. I’ve had my country fix for the day…for the year. It’s not like I’m a big drinker, and I definitely don’t want to parade around all night in a little dress. But Ainsley is excited for the next set of performers. I squeeze my eyes shut and massage my temples. Was this trip for me, or for her? Taking a deep breath, I straighten and smooth the dress against my body. What’s the point of getting frustrated? Another bout of country music is better than focusing on the real reason I’ve had to escape.

  “Well, put the dress on and let me see.” I comply, and as I step through the doorway, Ainsley glances in my direction and says, “That’s definitely your color—you should wear your cowboy boots, they will go perfectly.”

  My cowboy boots are a size too small, a sacrifice I was willing to make for a discounted purchase. Real leather doesn’t come cheap. Why are cowboy boots a must in Nashville? I squeeze into the boots and rise with a groan as I wiggle my toes around. “I don’t know about these, Ainsley,” I shout to her. “I can’t feel my toes. Seriously, I’m so used to workout shoes that I might not be able to walk by the end of the night.”

  Ainsley laughs as she pops her head out of the bathroom, a blush brush still in hand. “Why don’t you walk around the room a little and break them in,” she suggests, motioning with the end of her brush stick.

  I roll my eyes playfully and smirk. You can’t break in second-hand boots. “So, is that what you’re wearing?”

  “You don’t like it?” Ainsley’s face falls as she slides into full view. She smooths a hand down the black dress, her brow wrinkled. The tight material pulls across her thin torso and cuts open at the crevasse of her cleavage, meeting again at a crisscross that loops high around the neck. Would Will be okay with this dress if he were here?

  “Oh no, I do,” I say, my head lowered. Maybe it’s just me—I have to get used to her new additions, and she probably does too. Besides, I don’t want a repeat of the conversation we had on the elevator yesterday. “I was just curious. It looks great,” I reassure her, raising my head and smiling.

  “Thanks,” Ainsley draws out slowly as she moves back into the bathroom with her blush brush. She clears her throat, “You know, Will bought me this dress for Christmas.” I cringe, was that before or after her surgery? I slump down on the bed and stretch my legs out before me. “But you know what they say—what happens in Nashville, stays in Nashville—or is that just for Vegas?” She laughs playfully before repeating over and over that she’s just kidding. Too late, a pit begins to form in my stomach.

  We arrive at the first bar and the bouncer checks our IDs. Ainsley goes straight to the bar and orders two vodka tonics. Ugh. Could I ask the bartender to throw in a slash of juice? Ainsley thrusts the drink into my hand, and the first sip sends a bitter shiver across my shoulders. Ainsley laughs, then drags me to the dance floor.

  I twist and pull at my tight dress with my free hand as I fall into a two-step behind my best friend’s shadow. This is what she came here for—she’s in her zone, moving to the rhythm for all to see. It seems like only minutes have passed before she chinks around her ice cubes, lifts the black straw from the glass, and motions over the loud music that she’s returning to the bar. I wave her off, pointing to my nearly full glass. It’ll take a while for me to stomach this one. I slink back into the corner of the dancefloor as the crowd rocks before me. I bite my lip and take another agonizing sip of my drink. Where’s Ainsley? She’s the life of the party, always has been, but I don’t want to find her dancing on the bar. My eyes squint in the direction of the bar. Ah. There she is. My head tilts at the guy in a button-up shirt standing too close to Ainsley. They both lift a shot glass, clink them together, and down it. Ainsley’s face contorts, then she grins as she plunks the shot glass on the bar. She leaves with a wave, a new drink in hand, and finds me again on the dance floor.

  “Who was that?” I yell, inclining my head toward the bar.

  Ainsley shrugs then shouts over the thumping music, “Dunno, he just came over and bought me that shot.” She moves to the beat, brushing aside my concern. “Loosen up. You just turned twenty-six.” Then she raises her glass in a toast-like fashion before yelling, “Woooo!”

  The night drags on, one bar after another. She insists I get a drink at each bar we go to, but she’s stopped counting, so I stopped drinking hours ago. By now, my feet are aching, and I’m ready to leave. The singer on stage leans into the microphone while swinging his guitar strap over his head. His beard tickles the mic as he announces a quick break. I tug on Ainsley’s elbow. “I’m done. Are you ready to go back to the hotel?”

  “Oh, no—” Ainsley contests, “he hasn’t played that one song I love so much.” She grabs my hand and leads me to the bar. Ainsley orders a drink as my eyes widen at the guy in the button-up from the first bar who is meandering toward us. Is this coincidence, or has he been following us? With a cheap grin and wandering eyes, he orders a round of shots for Ainsley and himself. Ainsley flashes a big smile and turns to him. It’s like I’m not even here…not that I want to be noticed. I wouldn’t be taking a shot from a stranger anyway.

  The heel of my boots bite into my skin. Humph. Is this night over yet? I lean in and cup my hand against Ainsley’s ear, “I’m just going to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” Ainsley nods, runs a hand through her hair, and turns back to face the stranger. He hands her the shot just as I leave. I drag my boots to the ladies’ room positioned across from the bar. I just want my bed, that’s all I want. I take a moment after using the bathroom to shift my weight from one foot to the other, gripping the sink as I roll out my ankles. My gaze lifts to the mirror over the sink. Gross! I look about as tired as I feel right now. I thought this trip would be more about relaxing and resting than partying. I guess not. Next to me, a group of giggling women surround the full-length mirror. With a quick shake of my head, I turn and hobble back toward the bar. My eyes scan the crowd as I search for my best friend. But Ainsley is nowhere to be found.

  * * *

  The flight home is a quiet one—Ainsley pretends to sleep as I mull over the argument we had when I eventually found her outside of the bar with the stranger in the button-up shirt. I was angry she had left without telling me where she was going and that she chose to go outside with the stranger in the first place. She made excuses, especially when she finally woke up, with a pounding headache no less. She protested over the bustle of the Saturday crowds and live music on Broadway during our late lunch we scarfed down before having to pack up and leave for the airport. I must’ve heard a half-dozen times that it’s not a sin to have a private conversation with someone. But why did she have to have a conversation with that guy in the first place?

  As I sit in the middle seat, Ainsley rests her head against the side of the plane, the raised shade providing a view of the blackening night sky. I stare past her at nothing. Why did I cave to another escape? There’s
the obvious reason—I didn’t want Jonathan to find me. But there are other reasons, too. It’s my fear that pushed me to make the decision to leave for Nashville…and my lack of finances. But really, it was the only option of escape presented at the time … actually, insisted at the time.

  How much of this trip was really for me…for my birthday? Did Ainsley see a window of opportunity, using me as an excuse to get away from Will for a bit? If Will stopped working so much, would that solve some of the problems I see surfacing when I’m with Ainsley? I set my jaw and lift my chin. Either way, I don’t ever want to be put in that kind of position again— by anyone—especially not my best friend.

  The plane touches down and Ainsley lifts her head with an unconvincing jolt. She gathers her belongings, avoiding eye contact or conversation. As we wait to de-board, she turns on her phone and begins texting … to her parents, to her husband, I don’t know. But she’s made her point clear…she’s going to ignore me as long as she can. By the time we collect our luggage and get into the Highlander, the awkward silence that follows has me shifting back and forth in my seat.

  “Look,” I finally say, “I don’t know what happened last night, and I don’t know why you thought I would be okay when I couldn’t find you, but I think we should talk about it, Ainsley.”

  Her cold stare bears into the endless stretch of dark highway ahead of us. Ainsley eases her tone for a careless reply, “There isn’t much to talk about. We just left to talk because we couldn’t hear each other over the music.” That’s not an excuse. Doesn’t she remember the singer was on a break when they walked outside? She huffs, “We don’t need to keep bringing it up, especially now that we’re home.”

  I rub my hands together. “I just feel like all the marriages around me are falling apart,” I groan, my voice threatening to break. “It’s like there’s a domino effect, and I know I’m part of that group—heck, I’m leading that group with my upcoming divorce. It’s just that I really do value marriage, even if mine didn’t work out, and I feel like everyone around me is either accusing me or acting as if I don’t respect marriage at all.”

 

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